


It Wasn't Perfect, But It Was

by ihavealotofwords



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Get Together, M/M, Phil Bonds With Everyone, Prompt Fill, Recovering From Serious Injury, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 02:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1493623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ihavealotofwords/pseuds/ihavealotofwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Phil wakes, he's hurting all over, trapped in a hospital, and he can hear Clint crawling around in the vents. They must have won the battle, then. Now it's time to recover.</p>
<p>If only Clint would stop avoiding him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Wasn't Perfect, But It Was

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt [filled](http://fanofallthingsadorkable.tumblr.com/post/44035787303/hey-you-said-you-wanted-prompts-so-i-was-wondering-if) over at [my tumblr](http://fanofallthingsadorkable.tumblr.com/) :
> 
> starsandsarcasm asked:  
> Hey, you said you wanted prompts, so I was wondering if you could do Shieldhusbands, because they're adorable, and their first kiss?

Phil bit back a groan, trying to remember where he was. Hard mattress, bright lights, terribly sterile smell… a hospital? Phil held himself completely still, trying to get a feel for the room around him. He couldn’t hear anyone breathing nearby, so maybe he was alone? He didn’t know; his head was fuzzy. A sharp pain in his chest caught his attention. He slipped his hand up to brush against his chest, careful not to disturb the sheets. If he was in hostile territory, he didn’t want to alert anyone to the fact that he was awake. His fingers brushed against rough bandages binding his chest tightly. Memories came rushing back, visions of Loki and pain and blinding darkness, as the door to the room was opened. Phil heard a familiar metallic clang overhead, and reflexively called, “Get out of the vent, Clint.”

Or, he tried to, anyway. It came out garbled, sounding more like, “Geahtehvenclnt.” His mouth was dry, sore, like sandpaper. He took a deep, dragging breath. The expanding of his chest made pain explode behind his eyes and he gasped. A cool hand pressed to his forehead, keeping him pressed back against the pillow.

“Agent Coulson, can you hear me?”

Phil tried to nod. It came off as more of a jerk of his head, but it seemed to get his point across.

“I will go get the doctor. Please don’t move.”

Phil heard footsteps hurrying out of the room. Once the door swung shut, Phil listened. He could hear the tell-tale shift of Clint in the air vent above him. It was such a quiet, unassuming sound that only someone who knew what to listen for could pick out. Phil wanted to tell him to come down, but his mouth and throat didn’t want to work.

Phil cracked his eyes slightly, wincing at the bright light above him. He blinked rapidly until his vision cleared. He looked around. They had him in one of SHEILD’s long-term medical rooms. The room was mostly empty, save for the machinery that was attached to Phil and a lone chair next to the bed. Phil noticed a pair of heavy black boots underneath the chair, along with a black drawstring bag and would have smiled if he wasn’t in so much pain. Clint had been sitting at his side, probably for a while.

The door opened again, and a doctor walked in. He plucked a medical chart from the door. “Well, Agent Coulson, you gave us quite a scare,” he said, leaning forward to feel Phil’s pulse. He listened to Phil’s heart and lungs, scribbling notes on the chart, before stepping back. “Do you remember what happened?”

Phil nodded, glancing down at his chest. The doctor nodded. “Yes, the wound on your chest was deep, through and through. It just barely missed your heart; a little more to the right…” the doctor smiled. “It didn’t, though. We’re optimistic about your recovery.”

Phil listened as the doctor continued, explaining his condition. He couldn’t make himself pay complete attention; his thoughts were drawn to the vents repeatedly. The doctor noticed his wavering attention and gave him a smile.

“I’ll get out of here and let you rest. The nurse will be back in a little while to bring you something to drink and some pain medicine. If you need any help, press that button,” the doctor pointed to a button hanging from the side of the bed, well within reach. Phil nodded carefully.

Once the doctor was gone, Phil glanced up at the vent. Clint didn’t come down, but he didn’t leave, either. Phil wanted to call out to him, but he couldn’t. He blinked, and suddenly the nurse was there.

“Here you go, Agent Coulson.” She pressed a cup to his mouth. He parted his lips to drink the cool water contained inside. It helped soothe his throat. He glanced over at the chair beside the bed while the nurse busied herself with something he couldn’t see. The boots were still there, but the bag was gone. Phil frowned. Clint had come down, but he hadn’t stayed. Phil hoped he was still in the vent.

The nurse noticed Phil’s frown. “Here, I’ll give you a dose of pain medicine. You just rest for now.”

Phil tried to protest, but the nurse had already injected the medicine into his IV drip. Drowsiness came over him, and he succumbed to it.

——-

When Phil woke up again, he caught Clint trying to sneak out of the room, bag and boots in hand.

“Where are you going?” he asked hoarsely. Clint turned, looking guilty.

“Sorry, boss, I was just leaving.”

Phil tried to respond, but his throat caught and he started coughing, clutching at his chest as he did. Clint was by his side in an instant, hand supporting his back. He gave Phil a glass of water once the coughs eased down. Phil drank it all. Clint helped him lean back carefully. Phil looked up at him.

“Why are you leaving?” he asked. The room was dark, casting Clint’s face in shadow so Phil couldn’t see his expression. Clint’s shoulders hunched up near his ears. He shrugged slowly. “Well, don’t,” Phil said. “I’m sure I’m better company now that I’m actually awake.” Clint flinched. He glanced back towards the door, shifting from foot to foot.

“I don’t want to get in the way,” he said, tugging at the sleeves of his shirt like he did when he felt nervous and trapped. He kept glancing at the door. Phil felt a frown tug at his mouth. He still wasn’t thinking clearly, but he knew something was wrong.

He was about to ask, but Clint quickly climbed back up into the vent, closing it behind him with a soft click as the door opened. A nurse came in, checking all of the machines Phil was attached to. She gave him a smile.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Fine,” Phil said, wanting the nurse gone so Clint would come back down.

“Do you feel like having visitors?”

Phil blinked. “Visitors?”

“You didn’t think we’d leave you here all alone, did you Agent?” Tony Stark appeared in the doorway, sunglasses covering his eyes and suit expensive and well pressed as always. Behind him, Phil could see Natasha and (he gulped, on the inside, of course) Steve. The nurse left, stepping aside to let them pass. Natasha leaned against the wall, nodding to Phil. He knew they’d be able to talk later, when no one else was around and she had time to check the room for bugs (she was a spy, paranoia was in the job description). Tony came in and plopped down in the empty chair, propping his feet up on Phil’s bed. Steve looked pained, like he wanted to reprimand Tony, but he just shook his head and smiled at Phil.

“Agent Coulson,” he said quietly. “It’s good to see you awake. Bruce wanted to come, but…” he trailed off. Tony snorted.

“He’s a little busy drinking tea and meditating to try and control the big guy,” he drawled. Phil looked at him.

“He’s having trouble?” he asked in concern. Tony snorted again.

“He’s having trouble dealing with lying liars who lie about people being dead when they’re obviously not,” he said, strangely intense. Phil blinked. He frowned as what Tony was implying dawned on him.

“You were told I had died,” he said. Steve bit his lip and nodded. That helped explained Clint’s actions a little bit, Phil supposed. Steve stepped forward, pulling a package out of his pocket. He opened it, looking guilty.

“Directory Fury,” Tony made an irritated huff when Steve said the name, but shut up at Natasha’s glare so Steve could continue, “uh, well here.” Steve pulled several familiar cards out of the package. They were stained red in places. Steve handed them to Phil carefully. Phil frowned at them.

“These…” he started, throat sticking slightly, “were in my jacket.”

Steve nodded. “Director Fury used them to, well, motivate us. I tried to clean them off, but it didn’t work too well,” he said sheepishly. He rubbed the back of his head nervously. “I’m sorry, I know how important those cards were to you.”

Phil felt his head shaking firmly as his thumb rubbed lightly over the face of the card, carefully avoiding the bloodstains. He glanced up and caught Natasha’s gaze. “These aren’t mine. They’re Clint’s.”

“Barton?” Tony asked, looking up from the tablet Phil hadn’t even noticed him pull out. “Why would you have his Captain America trading cards? Wait, why does he have Captain America trading cards in the first place? Does he have a man crush on Steve too?”

Steve flushed. “Tony!” he hissed, looking pained.

“No,” Phil shook his head. “I gave them to him a few years ago.” It had been the first time Phil had actually gotten Clint a gift for his birthday. He had fretted over what to get the man, and finally had just thrust a few of his prized Captain America cards in Clint’s hands and prayed that he’d take care of them. It hadn’t even occurred to him that Clint might not like the cards until he had already handed them over, waiting for a reaction. He had panicked, but Clint had looked up and gave him a smile, one of the real ones that were so rare on him. A few months ago, Phil had learned that Clint always carried the cards with him, tucked in his shirt on every mission he went on. Phil’s throat had felt heavy at that revelation, but suddenly they were called to New Mexico for a special mission, and everything had started, giving Phil no chance to ask about it.

When Loki had taken Clint, Phil had found the cards dropped on the floor. Phil had bent down and scooped them up, tucking them in the inner pocket of his jacket. Anyone else might have taken that as a sign that Clint was no longer in there, that Loki had completely taken him over, but Phil had seen it as the opposite; Clint had left them for Phil to find.

Phil held the cards carefully, glancing past a squabbling Steve and Tony to catch Natasha’s eyes. Her expression gave away nothing, but her eyes flickered up to the vent where Clint still was. Phil didn’t look up, keeping an ear out for Clint’s movements.

“Thank you, Captain Rogers,” he said firmly over Tony’s voice. Steve turned to him, looking embarrassed at being caught fighting like a child.

“It’s no problem. And please, call me Steve,” he said earnestly. Phil blinked slowly, trying to remember how to breathe. He thought he could hear a slight huff of breath in the vent, signaling Clint’s silent laughter.

Steve, Tony, and Natasha stayed for a while, visiting with Phil until he began to grow tired. At his pale face, the nurse ushered the others out, Tony calling that they’d be back to visit. Once the nurse had fussed over Phil enough that she felt comfortable leaving him, Phil glanced up at the vent.

“Are you going to come back down now?” he asked. He only received a soft sigh in response. Phil tucked the cards on the bedside table before falling asleep.

The cards were still there when he woke, but Clint was no longer in the room.

——-

It was a few weeks before Phil was allowed to leave the hospital. He was on leave for the foreseeable future, forbidden to even return to SHIELD at all until he was released. He planned to catch a ride back to his apartment, collapse on his couch, and not move. His plans were hijacked when he stepped out of the hospital building and caught sight of Tony Stark lounging against a sleek, black car. He turned a looked at Phil. Phil wondered if he could slip away, but figured Tony could still run where Phil couldn’t. Phil sighed as he approached Tony.

“Get in the car. It would just be easier for everyone if you don’t argue,” Tony said, utterly cheerful.

“If I don’t?” Phil asked, brows rising. Tony smirked and Phil sighed. “Fine,” he said, slipping into the backseat of the car. Tony climbed in the other side, and the car took off. Phil glanced at Tony. “Where are we going?”

“The tower,” Tony said, tapping on a tablet.

“The tower? You mean your tower?” Phil asked. Tony hummed in affirmation. “Why?”

“You’re living there, of course,” Tony said simply. “I have your floor finished and everything.”

“What?” Phil blinked.

“All of your stuff has already been brought over from your apartment,” Tony continued as if Phil hadn’t spoken. “It’s been unpacked as well, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“Don’t you think you should have asked first?” Phil asked dryly. Tony looked up at him.

“I didn’t do it. I mean, I did renovate that floor for you, after we found out you were, you know, actually alive, but I didn’t touch your stuff. That blame falls on our favorite archer,” Tony shrugged. “He didn’t seem to care if you would mind or not.”

Phil sat back, looking out of the window. Clint had not been back at the hospital after those first few days. He had not called Phil, either. Natasha had been tight-lipped about the whole affair, making Phil frustrated at his lack of information. He couldn’t address a problem if he didn’t know what the problem was.

“So… you and Clint, huh?” Tony asked after a moment of silence. Phil didn’t deign him with a response.

The rest of the ride was quiet.

——-

It took some time, but Phil eventually began to get used to living with the Avengers. Tony had hired the best doctors money could buy and then paid them even more to make regular house calls to take care of Phil. No matter how he protested, Tony refused to listen, so Phil let the doctors care for him.

Tony had also renovated an entire floor of the tower just for Phil. It was nice and spacious, and pleasantly decorated, but it was far too much empty space for Phil. He spent a lot of time in the common areas of the tower; the main living room and the kitchen. It was there that Phil learned more about the Avengers (all of his heroes) than he ever thought he would.

He discovered that Thor held so much longing, longing for his brother to come home, for his family to be together, behind his cheerful mask. (He had also learned that Thor was very affectionate when drunk, but that was another story entirely.) He learned that Natasha actually liked Tony. He had known, of course, that she held a certain fondness for him, but it wasn’t until Phil had witnessed her pulling a stumbling Tony into the kitchen, ruffle his hair, and press a warm cup of coffee in his hands that he realized just how much she liked Tony. She had connected with him; the first long-term friendship she had ever had outside of SHIELD since Phil had known her. During a quiet morning, Phil had learned that Bruce woke early every day so he could meditate and calm himself down because he had chronic nightmares, and Bruce didn’t want his control slipping because of leftover adrenaline from night terrors. Late one night, when the ache in Phil’s chest had refused to let him sleep, he had learned that Steve still had nightmares about the war. They had sat in peaceful silence, Steve sketching distractedly, and Phil realized that all of the new things he had learned about the team made them real and tangible and human, but rather than shatter his dreams of them it only made him even more in awe of them.

Phil had connected in some way with every one of the Avengers after his return… except for Clint. He had not seen Clint since the hospital. Clint was carefully avoiding him, and when Clint wanted to be avoided… well, Phil certainly couldn’t keep up with him in his condition. Phil had just about resigned himself to having to wait until he was better and could climb up on the roof or in the air vents or on the refrigerator or wherever Clint was perched and pull him down to get his answers when he walked into Bruce’s lab and was immediately aware of Clint’s presence. Tony had asked him to pass a package off to Bruce, and Phil had agreed out of boredom (and the fact that if Tony had gone himself then whatever the engineer was working on probably would have exploded). Phil paused in the doorway of Bruce’s lab, eyes flickering back and forth, before he took a tentative step inside. He couldn’t see Clint. “Bruce?” he called.

Bruce’s head appeared from behind a stack of papers. “Phil? Oh, is that the modified Bunsen burner I asked for?”

Phil shrugged, handing the package over. “With Tony, who knows?” he said, still looking around for evidence that Clint had been there. Bruce’s eyes flickered up. Phil casually glanced that way and caught sight of an air vent. Ah.

“Will you tell Tony I said thank you?” Bruce asked, studying Phil. Phil nodded.

“Of course,” he replied, turning to leave. If Clint didn’t want to talk to him, Phil wouldn’t force him to. He was almost to the door when the vent swung open with a loud bang, and Clint fell to the floor. He cursed, picking himself up and looking around. He caught sight of Phil and his eyes widened. He looked exhausted, like he hadn’t been sleeping. Not to mention, Clint never, never fell out of an air vent. Though, the overly innocent expression on Bruce’s face suggested that the fall wasn’t all Clint’s fault.

Clint shook himself and slipped past Phil quickly. Phil didn’t think he could have stopped him if he tried. He turned back to Bruce. “I’m guessing that didn’t go as well as you and Tony had planned?” he asked dryly. Bruce had the good graces to look sheepish.

“He’s going back to his room,” Bruce said. “That’s where he was headed when you came. He’s on the top floor.”

Phil opened his mouth to argue, but simply shook his head before making his way to the elevator. He punched the button for the top floor and leaned back against the wall tiredly.

When the elevator pulled to a stop, Phil took a slow breath and stepped out into Clint’s floor. It was cold; the air conditioner was running on high. It was enough to make Phil shiver as he wandered through the hall, peering in the doors to look for Clint. He finally found him in the bedroom, sitting on the floor. He was buried deep inside a pile of spare blankets and pillows; his bed looked unmade. Phil walked over to Clint with a sigh, settling down beside him.

“Are we going to get to talk?” he asked, looking at the little tufts of hair that stuck out of the blankets- the only part of Clint that did. Clint shook his head under the blanket. Phil sighed again, shifting close to worm his way under the blankets until he was next to Clint. He pulled the blanket down so his was covering their shoulders, but their heads were free. Clint looked even worse up close. “How long has it been since you had a full night’s sleep?”

“Dunno,” Clint said with a shrug. Phil shook his head.

“What’s going on, Clint?”

Clint shook his head again, burrowing deeper into the blankets.

“Barton, report,” Phil said sternly.

“Is that an order, sir?” Clint asked furiously. He stopped, settling back down. Phil placed a hand on his arm. Clint glanced down at it. “It was me,” he said quietly.

“You what?” Phil asked, glad to be getting somewhere.

“The helicarrier, the attack, you dying,” Clint’s voice hitched on the last word. “It was me.” Clint tried to burrow deeper into the blankets.

Phil reached up and smacked the back of Clint’s head. Clint sat up straighter and looked at him incredulously. “What the hell was that for?” he asked.

“For being an idiot,” Phil said simply. Clint frowned at him. “That was not you. None of that was you,” he said firmly. “I read the reports, watched the footage. That was not you.”

“But,” Clint began to protest, but Phil cut him off.

“You were in there somewhere,” he said. “That’s the only reason why the helicarrier didn’t drop immediately. You could have done it, but you didn’t.”

Clint’s frown deepened. “Why aren’t you- why are you saying this?” he asked, frustrated.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“You died, Phil,” Clint said desperately. “You died as an indirect result of my actions.”

“No,” Phil said, gripping Clint’s arm tightly. “I didn’t die. I’m here, right now.”

“I thought you had died,” Clint rambled. “I thought you had left me, and I couldn’t just go get you back this time, and I never got to tell you why I kept those cards all the time, and how I love your expression when you’re trying to hold in a smile, and-”

It wasn’t a perfect kiss. Clint hadn’t registered what Phil was doing, so he was still trying to talk against Phil’s lips. Their teeth clacked together a bit, and the blankets slipped off, making Phil shiver. Once Clint did realize what was happening, he stopped trying to talk. He stopped completely, actually, and sat frozen in shock. It was only the last fraction of a second that Clint moved to return the kiss, but Phil found himself in need of oxygen, so he pulled back. Clint made a displeased noise.

“And that. I never got to do that before,” he said breathlessly. “I thought I never would.”

“You can now,” Phil said. Clint did.

It would take some work. Phil still had to recover physically, and Clint had to recover mentally, and there would be more attacks and battles that the Avengers would have to face but sitting there, close to Clint, trading steady kisses like they were trying to make up for all of the time they thought they had lost, Phil had to admit that it would be worth it.


End file.
